


Knock Loud (I'm Home)

by theladyscribe



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Making Up, New York City, New York Islanders, Sad Russian Hipsters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-18 19:59:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13107480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyscribe/pseuds/theladyscribe
Summary: "I'm going to be in New York for a few days," Misha said cautiously, bracing himself for Kolya to say he didn't care. "I'd like to see you, if I can."





	Knock Loud (I'm Home)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blueorangecrush](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueorangecrush/gifts).



> This story takes place in August 2017. I know these guys have houses out on Long Island and apparently all the Isles hate Brooklyn, but we're going to pretend that they love it. It's not exactly fix-it fic, but I hope you like it anyway, blueorangecrush.
> 
> Many thanks as always to my beta, H. Any mistakes are my own.
> 
> Title is from the song by Neko Case.

"I'm going to be in New York for a few days," Misha said cautiously, bracing himself for Kolya to say he didn't care. "I'd like to see you, if I can."

The last time they had seen each other was the night before Misha flew to Las Vegas. They'd had a fight, ostensibly over something trivial — the dishes Kolya left in the sink or the socks Misha never sorted, he couldn't remember what exactly had set it off — though they both knew it was so they wouldn't have to say goodbye. Misha had spent the night in a hotel by JFK, the few things he hadn't already shipped to Nevada crammed haphazardly into his rolling bags.

Since then, they'd exchanged a handful of texts, but this was the first time either of them had actually called. Misha hoped it wasn't too soon.

Kolya took a deep breath on the other end of the line, and Misha braced himself for a rejection. "That would be nice," Kolya said softly. "Send me your flight details."

Misha's flight landed while Kolya was at a preseason team skate in Nassau, so Kolya told him to let himself into the apartment. The condo hadn't changed in the the weeks Misha had been gone. He wasn't sure why he'd expected it to; Kolya was a creature of habit, same as most hockey players. Just because Misha was no longer there to splay across the oversized couch didn't mean Kolya had to redecorate his home.

After a moment's hesitation, Misha dropped his bags in the guest room and went to investigate the contents of Kolya's fridge. It was as bad as he anticipated: a carton of eggs, half a gallon of expired almond milk, three takeout containers, and an unopened bag of spinach. Misha resigned himself to braving the lines at the grocery store with Kolya later.

For now, he pulled his snapback on and headed for the bodega on the corner. He wasn't really hungry, but he didn't want to be in the apartment alone, twiddling his thumbs while Kolya was out. The barista was a new one, but the line cook recognized him and called over her shoulder, "The usual?"

"Yes, please," he said. "To go."

She served up the egg and cheese in moments and handed it over with an iced coffee. "On the house."

Misha nodded in thanks, dropped a ten in the tip jar, and headed out the door. He wandered idly, no real destination in mind. It was good to be back in the city, the constant buzz of Brooklyn different from that of both Moscow and Las Vegas. It was a nice day, a little cool for August, but perfect for walking and eating without thinking about where he was going.

It was the usual mix of locals and summertime tourists on the sidewalks: dog-walkers and bicyclists, young women in wide-brimmed hats and old men in running shorts, teenagers zipping through the throng on skateboards and scooters. No one seemed to recognize him, or if they did, they didn't bother him, so Misha walked and people-watched and ate his bagel.

Eventually, he found himself near Grand Army Plaza and Prospect Park. Misha entered the park and immediately headed for one of the side trails. The shade of the park was nice after the bright sun, and Misha found a bench to sit for a few minutes. He'd always liked how the park muted the hustle and bustle of the city, even when it was really just on the other side of the hill. The spot he'd picked was secluded but he could still catch glimpses of the lawn through the trees, with its sunbathers and volleyball players.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Misha glanced at his watch. It was later than he'd thought, time escaping him in a pleasant way rather than the way he'd come to associate with his concussions. Misha scrambled to dig his phone out of his pocket. It was Kolya, of course. "Hello?"

"Hey. Where are you?"

Misha looked around him. "In the park. West side. Not too far from an exit. I think."

Kolya barked out a laugh. "You _think_? Do I need to come rescue you, or can you find your way back?"

"I'm not lost," Misha protested. "I was about to head back anyway."

It took him a few minutes to find the exit, the trail winding around itself more than he remembered, but once he did, it was quick work to flag down a cab to take him back downtown.

Kolya was in the kitchen when Misha let himself into the apartment, putting away groceries.

"I didn't know you could go grocery shopping without me," Misha said, coming up behind him. "I'm so proud."

"Ha ha, very funny," Kolya said, pushing against him a little. "How was your flight?"

Misha leaned around him and pulled a box of cookies out of one of the bags. "It was fine. Nothing exciting."

"And your walk?" Kolya asked as Misha stepped away and put the cookies in the cabinet where they belonged.

"Good. It's nice to be back." Misha returned for another item, and Kolya wordlessly slid the bag down the counter to him. Misha emptied the bag and folded it up before putting it in the recycling. "I could use a shower and a nap, though."

He didn't mean for it to be an invitation, but Kolya nodded toward the remaining bags. "Let me finish putting these away, and I'll join you for the nap."

Misha showered quickly, but he dithered once he finished. They usually slept naked when they napped together — it was more efficient when most naps ended in sex — but Misha wasn't sure if that would be welcome now. They still hadn't talked about the fight. They probably should have talked about it before he even booked his flight, but it was a little late for that.

A knock on the door shook him from his thoughts.

"Misha?"

"I'll be right out." Sighing at himself in the mirror, Misha pulled his boxers on.

Kolya had already turned down the covers on the bed and was adding pillows to Misha's side of it. He smiled at Misha and stood up to draw the curtains. Kolya was half-dressed too; he'd taken off his shorts but left on his shirt and briefs.

They were both quiet as they climbed in bed together. Misha arranged the extra pillows to his liking, and Kolya curled into him once he settled. It was strange in its familiarity, and Misha's heart was in his throat as he realized how much he had missed this. He chewed on his lip, willing himself to keep it together.

Kolya, as usual, noticed his mood right away. He lifted himself up on one elbow. "What's wrong?"

Misha shook his head, fighting back tears that threatened to spill from his eyes.

Kolya brushed a thumb under Misha's eye. "You're crying."

Misha sat up, kicking at the pillows and blankets until he had his feet on the floor. He couldn't look at Kolya.

"Mishka?" He sounded worried.

Misha could feel Kolya moving up behind him. "Don't," he said sharply. "Please, don't."

Kolya stilled, clearly waiting for direction from Misha. Misha squeezed his eyes shut and breathed in and out, like the therapist after the second concussion had taught him. He clenched and unclenched his hands on the edge of the mattress, and when he finally felt calm again, Misha began to speak.

"I failed my preseason physical. Not the balance test — I passed that with flying colors, for the first time in ages — but the other part, the endurance and skating." He glanced over his shoulder and gave Kolya a wry smile. "Not as fast as I used to be, I guess."

"You could get better," Kolya started, always the optimist. "Take the year to train, maybe see if they'll release you so you can go to one of the European leagues, or —"

Misha grabbed Kolya's hand. "No, Kolya. I'm done. I'm tired. I don't want to work twice as hard to be half as good."

"But —"

Misha shook his head. "I'm done," he repeated. He looked down at their entwined hands. "The Knights want to keep me under contract for the cap, but I won't play. And when the year is up…"

"When the year is up, you'll come back to New York," Kolya said. "Or wherever I go."

Misha snorted. "Will I?" he asked.

"If you want to. Or you can pick where you want to go, and I'll sign with the team there."

Misha looked back up at Kolya. "Oh?" And then, "Anywhere?"

"Within reason," Kolya amended. "I don't want to move to Siberia."

"I like it here in New York," Misha said after a moment. "I wasn't sure I would at first. Long Island was so quiet, and then they moved us into the city, and it was so loud and so bright — you remember our first place here?"

Kolya laughed, no doubt remembering the loft they'd shared the first season they moved to Brooklyn. It was in one of the converted factories near the water, with twenty-foot ceilings and ten-foot windows. Their first night in the apartment, they'd forgotten to buy curtains for the bedroom, and neither of them could sleep between the bright lights of the condos being constructed next door and the way the traffic outside echoed in the cavernous ceiling space. They moved out of that apartment as soon as they could.

"It wasn't so bad," Kolya said when he got his laughter under control.

"That's only because we found this place a week later."

"So New York," Kolya said. "We can stay here, if you want."

"Your contract is up, though," Misha reminded him. "Are you sure they'll let you stay?"

Kolya shrugged. "There are two other teams here I could play for. Or Philly, if we had to."

Misha eyed him. "Philly?"

"If that's what it takes."

Misha shook his head. Neither of them hated Philly the way Zhenya Malkin hated Philly, but there was no love lost there either. That Kolya would be willing to put up with the Flyers and their fans if it came to it, if that was what Misha wanted —

"I love you, you know," Misha said softly.

Kolya squeezed his hand. "I know."


End file.
